No More Surprises
by Whitefang1407
Summary: *Warning: MAJOR spoilers for IW!* Tony searches for Pepper in the aftermath.
1. Ashes

**Warning: MAJOR Infinity War spoilers ahead!**

 **So, I wrote this mostly because we don't know if Pepper survived the SNAP; I thought I would do my own take on it. Also, all the feels...I had to process them somehow. This will be mostly Tony / Pepper centric, but I'm considering expanding the story later, once this initial thing is done (because we have a year to wait for the real ending anyway, right?).**

 **I don't own these characters. Enjoy!**

* * *

Tony Stark hated being wrong.

He had thought, somehow, that when the ashes cleared and the sirens stopped and the galaxy's color was no longer grey, he would wake from an awful dream-sleep. The sun would come out again. The fires would stop. The buildings would look less like tombstones and more like places that were designed to shelter people. The wind, ceaseless as it had been since The Day, would not sound quite so sad.

And lastly, as the forms of his fallen allies came rising over some green, sloped hill, Peter Parker would come swinging around the corner, and he would natter on (as he always did) about movies and saving the world again and "What's next, Mr. Stark?"

Because there would be a "next." There would be a new day—a better day, where the larger part of the world was ignorant to the cataclysm that had so nearly swallowed it whole.

A day when _The Day_ had never come to pass. That's what Tony had thought: that this awful, cruel reality was not reality at all, but a nightmare.

Oh, how he hated being wrong.

* * *

Tony supposed that his first mistake was in the assumption that the ashes would clear. He had been standing before a tiny faucet at the back of Quill's ship for nearly a half hour now, scrubbing his hands. The scalding heat of the water, combined with his vigorous, partially-crazed washing, had rendered his skin so red that it was almost the same color as the scarlet plating on his suit.

But the ashes remained.

Twice, he had turned the water off and seated himself on a nearby crate, only to look dazedly down at his hands some minutes later to find that they were just as coated as before.

He was on his third attempt. Tony clenched his jaw as he scraped at his palms, trying and failing to forget the image of Peter Parker's eyes, wide and terrified and then, suddenly, _gone_. Gone, like everything else.

Everything except the ashes.

He scrubbed harder. His left hand began to bleed.

"Stop." Tony recognized Nebula's voice from behind him; the cyborg had been silent up until now as she rummaged halfheartedly through the crates that were scattered around them. Now, she was seated on top of one, her back bowed and her shoulders slumped, as she—like Tony—glared into her empty palms.

Tony paused his frantic scrubbing and glanced to the side. "It won't come off," he said.

"It's not supposed to."

There was a long pause, broken only by a fractured sigh and the scrape of alloy against leather. Then Nebula dropped from her crate and ambled off in the direction of the cockpit, her boots clicking softly against the metallic deck.

Tony looked down at his marred hands. A droplet of blood arced over the inner curve of his palm; he rotated his wrist, and the scarlet teardrop ceased its cling and plummeted to the floor. He sniffed. How close were they to Earth's atmosphere, he wondered? Tony engaged the comm link in his helmet, hoping to find that Friday was back online, but the only reply to his query was a stream of static.

He plunged his hands back into the water and continued to scrub.

* * *

Eventually, Tony gave up on ridding himself of the ashes, and opted instead to wrap his hands in a roll of gauze he had spied earlier. It was another hour before they reached Earth's atmosphere. An hour of tinkering with the damaged portions of his armor and pacing among the crates and deliberately _not thinking_ , because each thought was more horrifying than the last.

It had been quite some time since Tony had experienced a nightmare. When, he wondered, would this one end?

Friday was the one to notify him of their arrival; her systems, it seemed, had reengaged now that they were within Earth's atmosphere. " _Welcome back, Boss_ ," she lilted, her Irish accent ringing through his helmet's recently-activated interface.

Tony stood. "Call Pepper," he said immediately.

" _Right away._ "

He stared at the image of Pepper's face as it gleamed upon his interface. As the phone began to ring, he struggled to keep a fresh barrage of nightmarish possibilities from overtaking that image, from turning her to ash. Tony swallowed. He knew the number: it was, of course, impossible to forget—a simple, heavy percentage (he refused to allow words such as "probability" and "likelihood" to cross his consciousness so brashly, refused to give them voice, lest they come true).

"Come on, Potts," he grated. The phone continued to ring. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Answer. Please answer." But with each echoing chime, Tony's heart rate increased. His chest ached—it was not the deep, low ache that had plagued him since that moment on Titan, but a sharp, unrelenting thing: bright and all-encompassing and completely, utterly consuming. His breath hitched as he fought against an oncoming panic attack.

" _Boss,_ " Friday said, " _Your heart and respiratory rates are increasing exponentially. Try to take deep breaths_."

The ringing stopped abruptly. Pepper's automated voicemail started, but Tony cancelled the call.

He rested his hands upon his knees. _She's just away from her phone,_ he told himself as he deactivated his armor and clutched at the fabric over his chest. _She left it somewhere, that's all. She's just...she's going to be…._

He could see the ashes through his bandages. Gasping, Tony activated his armor again, and the red of his gauntlets hid them from his view. He breathed in through his nose and exhaled slowly. The wound in his abdomen—sealed and bound with medicated foam, for the time being—throbbed against his torn sweater. "Keep trying, Friday," he ordered, once he had gathered himself again.

But this time, the phone rang on his end. Tony's relief was as potent as it was overshadowed; he looked up to see Rhodey's image over the _incoming call_ notification. He exhaled through his nose before answering.

" _Tony,_ " Rhodey sighed, " _Thank goodness. Where are you_?"

"I'm just getting back to Earth," he answered. "It's good to hear your voice." He spied the smoking expanse of New York through a nearby window and looked away. Before he lost the will to ask, he continued: "How many did we lose?"

Rhodey was quiet for a moment. His sigh was heavy enough to sound loud and grating over the line. "Too many," he said. "Only Steve, Natasha, Bruce, and Thor survived.

"Damn it…."

"Oh, and a new guy. He's...a raccoon?"

"Not the strangest thing we've seen, I guess."

There was another pause; Tony knew the question would come, but the knowledge did nothing to dull the wake of its sting. "Uh, what about...on your end?"

"It's me and someone new," he said, trying and failing to sound optimistic as his eyes fell on Nebula's rigid form, where she sat stiffly in the pilot's seat.

"Oh." Rhodey's voice was low and quiet. "I'm sorry, Tony," he said, reading seamlessly between the lines.

Tony swallowed as he saw a pair of wide, scared eyes. "Me, too." He ducked his head.

"You should know—Cap wants us to rendezvous back at headquarters before we start on damage control."

"Yeah, well, I owe Pepper a nice dinner."

"Uh-huh," Rhodey said, his tone falling just short of amusement. "I thought you might say that. I'll tell him you're busy."

"Thanks, Rhodey."

"Sure thing." His friend hesitated before asking, "Do you want me to come with?" He left the "just in case" out, but Tony heard it all the same.

He blinked several times. "Nah, this one's on me, Platypus," he said. "Besides, we only made reservations for two."

Rhodey grunted. "Alright. I'm here if you need anything."

* * *

After giving Nebula the coordinates to HQ, Tony opened the ship's emergency hatch and dropped into the sky.

The city was thick with smoke and something else—something, Tony suspected, that might have been grief, for it tasted of salt. He continued to try Pepper's cell as he flew. He continued to hold his breath with each ring, continued to build that painful ache in his chest as she inevitable failed to answer. He tried Happy's cell twice (no luck there, either) before returning to Pepper's number.

Eventually, Friday silenced the ringing, although Tony hadn't ordered her to. He supposed she would justify it on account of his swiftly-declining emotional status. He told himself that the suit was holding him together as he sped toward their Manhattan condo—and that might've been partially true. But really, it was the stubborn hope that Pepper would be there, waiting for him, when he opened the door.

And if she wasn't, well...there would be nothing left at all to keep him standing.

Tony thought, as he paused to stabilize a falling helicopter and lower it safely to the ground, that he should call May Parker. She should know what happened, after all.

She should know that it was Tony's fault. That he was supposed to protect him, but he couldn't, and now Peter was gone. Gone, and dead, and done.

But he didn't know if May was still...present...and he didn't know how to say it, not yet, but he _did_ know that he wanted to tell her in person and not over the phone, because she deserved at least that much.

And he couldn't do it yet. He wasn't ready.

So Tony took off into the sky again and he waited for Pepper to answer, and when he thought he saw ashes on the surface of his gauntlets, he kicked up his power output and tore through the air with a great, energized _crack_.

* * *

Such was Tony's haste that he reached the condo in a matter of minutes. It was, in comparison to his Malibu home, incredibly modest, as he and Pepper had intended their stay to be temporary. In fact, he was in the process of building them a new home outside of the city—close enough to HQ for security, but far enough away that they would have their privacy. It was one of the things he had planned on telling Pepper over dinner that night.

Tony finally ceased his string of back-to-back phone calls as he stepped up to the wide doors of their condo's second floor (the first served as one of his workshops, of course, for he couldn't live anywhere without a place to tinker—temporary or not). He deactivated his armor; the nanotech suit seemed to melt away, its substance receding back into the power source on his chest like so many rivers of gold and red. Tony tipped his head back for a moment; he pushed a breath through his teeth and knotted a bandaged hand over his stab wound.

It would be fine. He would open the door, and she would be inside, waiting for him. Her red hair would be pulled into a tight bun (she always fastened it that way when she worried, as though the pressure would steady her) and she would have the news up on at least two screens, and she would be on the phone with Happy or Rhodey or one of her friends from the office.

Yes, it would be fine, he tried to assure himself—because she was _Pepper_. His Pepper. And she was, to him, all that was good in this galaxy, and all that held him together.

Tony ran his fingers through the uncharacteristically clumped and matted mess that was his hair. He took a shuddering breath. He would not think of the ashes. He would not look at his hands, for then he would not have to see it: that sempiternal evil, that cruel, black reminder, an everlasting imprint upon his skin. And so instead he fixed his eyes resolutely ahead, and he opened the door.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think?**


	2. The Search

**Thanks to everyone who has favorited/followed/reviewed so far!**

* * *

Tony did not dare to venture beyond the condo's well-lit entryway for several minutes. Instead he stood, rigid and stock-still, as he examined the scene before him.

A plate of untouched fruit (devoid of strawberries, of course) was balancing precariously near the edge of the kitchen's marble countertop. The barstool beneath it had been pulled out and left to lean haphazardly against its neighbor, as though someone had fallen or left in a hurry. Tony could hear the news playing in the adjacent living area; a reporter was using words like "tragedy" and "unthinkable" and "simply gone."

Pepper's running jacket was hanging on the wall beside him, like it always was in the afternoons. Her shoes were placed neatly beside the doormat—that is, _a_ pair; Tony had lost count of the number of pairs she owned, apart from the ones that looked like sandals (twelve), and he knew this only because he thought that Pepper's feet were curiously and exceptionally pretty. As such, eight of those pairs had been gifts from him.

There was a faint trail of something—Tony assumed it was dirt; he refused to consider the alternative—that began at the entryway and continued on down the hallway. It would be easy, he thought, to simply have Friday analyze it.

He could just ask the AI if Pepper was home.

And he could, at the very least, call out from where he stood in the doorway, and pray that Pepper would answer. That she would appear from around the corner or down the hall, her eyes wide with relief after hours of stress, and she would fret and fuss and scold him for leaving the planet—again.

But Tony didn't want to ask Friday this time. He didn't want to call out. Those options left him with the possibility of a great, empty vacuum, whether it be in the form of a simple " _She's not here, Boss_ ," or worse: suffocating silence.

Instead, Tony kept his hands at his sides, and he ventured past the relative safety of the condo's foyer.

* * *

He began slowly, one hand braced over his wound. Tony righted the crooked barstool and slid the plate away from the countertop's edge. He crossed the room and walked through the wide, arcing frame that led to the living area. The large, overstuffed couches were empty; a glass of water, half-full, was sweating atop its coaster. The lamp above it had been left on. A warm, homey glow bathed the metallic end table in golden light.

Tony almost— _almost_ —snapped his fingers to turn the light off, out of habit. But as his hand lifted from his side and, with it, a thousand horrific images, his knees nearly buckled. His bandaged fingers clutched instead at the power source atop his shirt. He gasped; a bead of sweat dripped from his forehead. _Pepper_ , Tony thought, closing his eyes so tightly that he thought they might be sealed forever, _I have to find Pepper_.

" _Boss,_ " Friday's pleasant voice echoed around him, " _you're doing it again_."

Tony wiped his forehead and straightened, his limbs trembling slightly. "Very astute, Friday," he rattled. "Thank you." His sarcasm was easily smothered by the shallow draw of each breath.

It took a few more moments for him to steady himself. Friday was blessedly silent as Tony stood at the mouth of the hallway, willing his heart to cease its incessant hammering. When it had finally dialed down from "wild and consuming" to "unsettling, but passable," he took another breath and started down the hall.

* * *

Tony searched for her, step by step, room by room. He opened the guest bathroom door and found it cool and empty. He checked both guest rooms; the beds were still made, neat and untouched. Tony even opened the hall closet and, after defending himself against a barrage of falling mops and brooms, he moved on to the master bedroom.

It was as though they had never left that morning. It was as though they had never pulled on their sweats and laced up their shoes and headed to the park for a run. It was as though it had been nothing more than a brisk, green day, safe from the grasping fingers of darkness that reached so hungrily for their ignorant world.

But they _had_ left. Tony's dark gaze rested upon the bed, where the sheets had been pulled up and Pepper's sweats sat clean and folded in crisp, square lines. Her watch was absent from its charging port atop her bedside table.

 _Absent_.

Tony was beginning to hate that word.

He opened their walk-in closet. A row of his suits and button-ups hung stiffly before him, faced on the opposite side by a large assortment of Pepper's blouses, jackets, and other hanging attire. Their shoes were lined squarely along a low shelf on the far wall. Tony stared at one of her T-shirts, the blue one that she often wore at night, and its color was just a few shades lighter than that of her eyes.

His heart was pounding again.

Tony slammed the door of the closet. Spinning around, he threw open the the entrance to the master bath, his ribs pulling painfully against the wound in his side as he fought for breath. "Pepper?" He spoke her name this time, throwing all caution and hesitancy to the wind.

No answer.

Pepper's toothbrush was sitting in its container beside the sink. There were water droplets on the counter below; if he looked closely enough, Tony could see a distorted reflection of himself within each one. Her towel was resting neatly upon its rod beside the door. A large letter "P" was embroidered just above its lower seam, designed so elegantly that it looked as though it had been drawn, rather than written and sewn.

Everything appeared so _normal_. It was as though all of her little every day items were there waiting, resolute and patient and ready for her when she returned.

Because she _would_ return, Tony willed as he sped out of the bedroom and back down the hall, bracing his abdomen. _She's just downstairs. That's it_. He followed the remains of the dusty footprints to the staircase.

"Pepper!" Tony called her name again, louder this time, as he stumbled down the spiral stairs, down and into a place that _could not be and would not be_ a tomb. He would make it to the glass door at their base. He would tap in his code and bid the barrier to open. He would walk through, and she would be there, waiting for him, because she was Pepper, and she was always there for him, always by his side, even when he was away.

Because she was all that was good in this galaxy….

All that held him together….

Tony made it through the glass doors and stopped short. "Pepper?"

He was sure that he had spoken her name, but this time, he couldn't hear it. The pounding in his ears, in his chest and his blood and his bones, was deafening. The edges of his vision began to blur. The light was on, but everything seemed suddenly and strangely dark. Tony braced himself against the wall behind him. He spied the ashes upon his bandaged hands.

 _I don't want to go_.

"Pepper!"

 _Mr. Stark, I'm scared._ Tony looked down at his feet, and the world collapsed for the second time in two days.

There, gleaming upon the ground with all the fragile beauty of a crystallized tear, was Pepper's ring.

His heart stopped pounding. His breathing slowed. His vision cleared. Tony reached out with a blood-soaked hand and gently plucked the ring from the cold floor. "No," he choked. He knelt as he cradled the ring to his chest, his broken frame folding over to enclose the token in his presence, like a letter sealed and tucked away.

"No...Pepper, please…." Tony's vision blurred once more—for a different reason, this time. The blood and ash on his hands left smears on the floor as the mixture dripped from his bandages.

 _Mr. Stark,_

An awful sound tore from his lungs. It sounded vaguely like her name.

 _I'm_

He clutched at the fabric of his shirt with one hand, weeping.

 _Scared._

Because she was all that was good in this galaxy, and all that held him together.

* * *

Tony's vision was all but gone again by the time he started breaking things.

Such was the noise—shattering glass and smashing metal and the ceaseless drum of an unwilling heart—that he didn't hear the front door open and close above him.

* * *

 **That was rough (also, sorry these chapters are pretty short). More are coming, though! Thanks again for reading, all...thoughts? :)**


	3. Glass like Rain

**Hi all! Thanks to everyone for all of the support (and for hanging in there after a really depressing chapter). I appreciate you all! Anyway, I hope you like this one.**

 **As always, I don't own these characters.**

* * *

The morning of _The Day_

* * *

Pepper Potts had never liked surprises. She was, above all else, a composed, proper, and professional woman, who prided herself on her ability to complete any given task with skilled efficiency. Thus, surprises were something like wrenches thrown into the gears of a well-oiled machine. They were setbacks—obstacles. They were things she needed to weave around and pluck tirelessly from her seamless routines as Tony's secretary, and later, as the CEO of Stark Industries.

Eventually, when she and Tony began dating, Pepper was introduced to a second kind of surprise. These were entirely different from the cold, irritating interjections of the former. They were softer, more gentle—something like the strokes of multicolored light that appear when the sun sets. These surprises came in the form of Tony Stark's unexpected tells, which he revealed slowly and sparsely, and he reserved only for her: the way his confident smile faltered slightly when he asked for her advice; his restlessness, spoken only in the way he drummed his fingers upon her desk or clicked the pen in his hand when he was on the brink of a new discovery; and gifts—Tony was used to giving extravagant ones, but Pepper's favorite were the fleeting, thoughtful gifts he offered her, like a warm cup of coffee with just the right amount of cinnamon, or a kiss, placed delicately and honestly upon her lips before her sentence was finished. Yes—these surprises, Pepper came to like very much.

But there was a third kind of surprise in Pepper's life. These were as inevitable as they were scorned, for they were tied to that arc reactor in Tony's chest. They came in the form of wormholes and impending invasions and missile launches, of unnatural storms and private phone calls and destruction wrought upon whole cities. They came in the form of panic attacks. They came in the form of a mysterious man with an eyepatch; of lost cell service, of sitting before a news screen and watching Tony fly straight into the brink of an unthinkable threat with only a shell of alloy and and a brilliant mind to protect him.

Pepper would never grow used to these surprises, no matter the years or the successes or the number of times Tony walked through their front door, alive and (somewhat) well. She would forever dread them.

So when a man in a red cape stepped out of thin air and into the spring grass of the park with _that look_ in his eyes, Pepper reached for Tony's arm, and she refused to let go. There was a moment when she thought he might stay, too.

But then Bruce Banner stumbled out of thin air after him, and he was wearing that same expression.

* * *

It was happening again. Tony was leaving.

As he turned to follow the others through the wizard's portal, Pepper caught his hand. "Tony, no."

"Pepper…." He pressed his lips together in a firm, regretful line.

"Don't go."

Tony backpedaled so that he could face her properly, and he removed his sunglasses. "I have to," he said simply, but the look on his face spoke of something else, entirely, and it was not simple at all.

Pepper rested her palm over the surface of his armor's power source; the blue light bled around the edges of her engagement ring. "No, you don't," she said. "You don't."

He was quiet for a moment; his hand moved to brush down the sleeve of her matching jacket, and he sighed. "I'm sorry," Tony murmured.

It was the first time he apologized that day.

It would not be the last.

He brushed a strand of errant hair behind Pepper's ear and leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead. "I'll be back in time for dinner," he promised. "Besides, it's a pain in the ass to reschedule at that place."

"How would you know?" she asked, forcing a brittle smile. "I'm the one who has to reschedule."

"Fair point. That's why I love you."

"Uh-huh."

Tony's eyes lowered briefly, and he fiddled anxiously with the collar of her jacket, as though he wanted to say something else. Instead, he kissed her again—on the lips this time—and at the exaggerated sigh of the red-caped wizard, Tony turned and disappeared through the portal.

Pepper watched as the last of the orange-yellow spell dissipated. She decided right then that this particular mode of surprise—the kind that involved wizards and portals and Bruce's fear-crazed eyes—was truly the worst.

* * *

Her first actions upon making it home were to shower and turn on the news. For a while, nothing seemed amiss. The weatherman predicted fairly cool temperatures and clear skies. A news anchor in Times Square was raving about the pastries from a nearby bakery. Crime rates had been steadily declining in the Queens area, thanks to Spider-Man's efforts—this was being debated by several journalists, as some, apparently, weren't convinced of Peter's friendly nature ( _how_ anyone could see him in a negative light, Pepper wasn't sure, and of course they had little evidence to back up their opinions. And no—a picture of the spandexed hero with a "possibly stolen" canole in his hand was _not_ grounds for a proper investigation. Good grief).

Pepper had settled herself on one end of the couch with a glass of ice water and an assortment of files from work when the channel abruptly changed. A women in a red windbreaker was standing in the park that Pepper and Tony had been in only a few hours before; she pulled at her hood, fighting a sudden wind, as she gestured to something in the distance.

A spaceship. Or so Pepper assumed that's what it was: a large, spinning disk with a hollow center—reminisce of a metallic donut or the rubber of a bicycle's tire—was descending upon the city.

Her initial thought was to call for Tony, until she remembered that he was not home.

He was probably already there: at the very climax of the danger, suited up and ready. As if a person could be _ready_ for something like this.

Pepper rested her half-empty glass on the end table and stood. The news anchor in the park was still fighting bravely against the unnatural wind, and a sudden barrage of explosive sound thundered around her as she ran for cover; there was a charged, energized _crack_ that Pepper recognized instantly, followed by a beastly roar and a collision of metals.

The anchor peeked around the corner of an overturned taxi. "Are we getting this?" she asked her cameraman, who responded with a hefty grunt.

Through the blur of wind and cacophonous motion, Pepper saw the scarlet gleam of Tony's suit; saw the burst of white-blue energy as he fired at a hulking, knobbed beast of a creature; saw him slide across the grass as he took a heavy hit; and then, just before the creature sliced through his chest, she saw another portal open and close behind it.

There came another burst of energy as Tony took off into the sky and out of the camera's view. Something snapped, the reporter took off at a run, and the camera went black.

Pepper stared at the blank screen for several long moments; unconsciously, she reached up and re-tied her hair into a tight bun. Then she gathered up her files and went to the kitchen.

 _It's happening again_ , Pepper thought numbly as she pulled her phone out and dialed Rhodey's number with trembling fingers (she knew better than to call Tony now, when he was in the middle of a battle).

Rhodey answered almost immediately. "Pepper?" He sounded ruffled, as though he was in the middle of something.

"Rhodey, are you seeing this?"

"Yeah," The Lieutenant Colonel confirmed. There was a frustrated sigh, and then: "I should be out there with him, but right now, I've gotta deal with the Defense Committee. Where are you?"

Pepper set her folders down on the counter. Frowning, she spun them around until they were lined up with the right angle of the marble surface. "I'm at home—it's far enough away from the fighting that I think I'm okay, for now."

"Alright. Be ready to evacuate if things get worse," he told her.

She rested a hand over the necklace that hung over her chest; it was the heart-shaped one that Tony had bought for her, after the incident with AIM. Pepper felt a brief flicker of regret for calling Rhodey—he was undoubtedly busy, and really, she shouldn't have expected to hear anything reassuring. Still, she had to try. "Have you heard from him?" she asked. "Anything at all?"

There was a brief pause. "No. I'm sorry, Pepper," Rhodey murmured. "For now, we just have to trust that Tony knows what he's doing."

"Right." Pepper fiddled with the silver necklace in a restless movement that was reminisce of her fiance. "Right, he'll be okay. He always is."

She heard Rhodey bark something like "hold on" and "no, you can't have access" to someone on the other line, and then he sighed once again. "I should go. If I hear anything from Tony, you'll be the first to know."

"Thanks, Rhodey."

"Sure thing." He hesitated for a moment; Pepper could hear someone speaking to him in harsh, disapproving tones, but the Lieutenant Colonel's demeanor remained professional, as always. "Don't worry, Pepper," he reassured her before hanging up. "I'm sure he'll be okay." And then the line went silent.

* * *

Not long after her phone call, the news channel came back on, and Pepper saw that the spaceship was taking off.

 _That was fast._

She was thinking, as she watched the strange object rise back into the sky, that she should feel a sense of relief. It was possible that the invaders were retreating, after all. It was possible that Tony and his allies had won. It was possible that he would come walking through the front door in another few hours, and everything would be alright.

But Pepper did not feel relieved. She couldn't place it, couldn't name it, but something was wrong.

She dialed Tony's number and held her breath.

He picked up almost immediately. His voice carried that usual air of nonchalance and confidence, at first, but it didn't last. Pepper was suspicious as soon as he told her that he wouldn't be back in time for dinner, and when he fell silent beneath her desperate attempts to persuade him to come back, she knew for sure that this was worse than she had imagined.

"Tony, come back," she demanded, for her pleas had not worked. "Come back here, right now."

Pepper didn't have to see his face to picture the regretful curve of his lips—that downcast expression which always appeared when he disappointed her. "I'm sorry, honey," he whispered, and he did, in fact, sound sorry. "I don't know what to say."

It was the second time he had apologized to her that day. That in itself was a testament to the gravity of the situation; years ago, when Pepper had first known him, Tony Stark _never_ apologized—not to anyone. It was still rare (and often reserved for her alone), but the raw, unhindered honesty of his apology gave her pause.

"Tony—" she started to say something else, to beg him one more time, but the line went dead.

She kept the phone to her ear for at least a full minute. Pepper watched as the last traces of the ship disappeared into the sky, taking Tony— _her_ Tony—with it. Then she set her phone on the counter with an echoing _click_ and buried her face in her hands.

* * *

Pepper decided at some point that she might as well go in to work. It was a Saturday, so most of the staff would be gone, but she could at least keep herself busy (it wasn't as though she ever had a shortage of things to do, as CEO). And that way, she wouldn't have to sit around in the empty condo and look at Tony's empty coffee mug or his empty spot on the couch or the way his empty pillow still held its perfectly Tony-shaped valley down the center.

She was just grabbing her purse and file folder when the doorbell rang.

" _It's Happy Hogan_ ," Friday announced suddenly, breaking a silence that had lasted long enough for Pepper to completely forget about her.

"Oh. Thank you, Friday."

" _Sure_."

Pepper chuckled at the AI's casual demeanor—it presented such a contrast to Jarvis' calm, measured manner of speech. Instead of having her unlock the door, Pepper went to the entryway herself and, after slinging her purse over her shoulder, she let Happy in.

"Pepper!" The broad-shouldered Head of Security looked down on her with a conflicting expression of relief and worry. "I'm glad you're okay. I thought about calling first, but I was already in the neighborhood, so…."

She stepped aside to allow him more room. "That's alright. I was just leaving for the office, actually."

"What? Without asking me for a ride?"

"It's fine, Happy. I'm capable of driving myself now and then, or taking a cab."

"Yeah, but in _these_ conditions?" He shook his head. "No way, Pepper. I can't allow that. Tony would kill me." He sniffed and glanced around at the various pieces of fine art that decorated the walls of the home (he, unlike Tony, had good taste for these kinds of things). "It's a mess out there, anyway. I don't think you should go anywhere."

Pepper tugged at the strap of her purse, considering. It was just like Happy to defer to Tony, after all of these years, even though she was technically his boss now. He was right, though. She really shouldn't go anywhere. Perhaps remaining at the condo would be more bearable with Happy around to keep her company.

"Okay," she reluctantly agreed. "I guess I can work on things here. Come in."

* * *

As it turned out, Happy's presence was of great comfort to Pepper as she busied herself with work. She supposed that it was due in part to his position as Head of Security, and part to his genuine, unfailing devotion to Tony (indeed, the man was so steadfast and driven when it came to his job and his friend that his seriousness was, at times, ironically comical).

Happy's first order of business was to do a sweep of the condo. Neglecting to take his shoes off and thus leaving a faint trail of dirt across the carpet (Pepper scolded him for this, and he promised to clean it later. He defended himself by telling her that he would have no time to tie his shoes if they needed to make a quick getaway), he traipsed down the hall and took the staircase to the first floor. Once he had ensured that there were no alien invaders hiding in Tony's workshop, he returned to where Pepper was seated at the kitchen bar, and proceeded to watch over her as she worked.

"Happy," she said, spying his concerned expression, "you can relax."

He glanced toward the front door. "Sorry, ma'am. Just keeping watch."

"Did you just _ma'am_ me?" Pepper swiped through a list of emails on her open laptop before raising an eyebrow at the looming bodyguard. "How long have we known each other?"

He fidgeted awkwardly in front of the fridge. "Right, sorry. It's the stress."

"Uh-huh." She straightened. "How about some Downton Abbey?"

"Well…."

"Come on—I know it's your favorite. We'll play it on the kitchen TV, so you can stay close by while I work."

Happy breathed in through his nose before huffing a great sigh. "Alright," he said, "but I'm blaming you if Tony finds me slacking."

"Fair enough."

* * *

They had been sitting in the kitchen for what seemed like hours, picking halfheartedly at a plate of fruit and focusing on their respective screens, when Happy suddenly looked over at her. Pepper was in the middle of running some numbers for the company; she tapped away at her screen, double- and triple-checking her math before inputting the results.

Happy cleared his throat awkwardly. "You think he'll be back for good this time?" he asked.

Pepper swallowed a bite of pineapple and blinked several times. "What?"

"Oh, well, you know. Tony has seemed a little...melancholy, lately." Happy tapped a finger upon the counter's surface. "He hasn't expressly said it—but I wonder if he's getting tired of the superhero business. Tired of leaving, I mean, and not knowing when he'll come back." Pepper noted that he said _when_ instead of _if_. It was a generous distinction.

"I'm not sure that he can give it up," she said, softly. "Iron Man is part of him. Even now, after he's removed the arc reactor from his chest, he wears the nanotech model."

Happy nodded thoughtfully and sampled a slice of apple. "True," he agreed, "but he doesn't wear that for the same reason he wore his other suits." The bodyguard peered over at her. "He wears that for you."

She pressed her lips together in a thin line, her hand moving unconsciously to brush over the necklace below her throat. Tony had said much the same thing that morning. But did he mean it, or was it another excuse?

Happy glanced briefly at the TV. "That's why I think he _can_ give it up," he told Pepper. "He can give it up, for you. And not just because you ask him to, but because he _wants_ to, deep down. I can see it." He tipped his head to the side. "I think you can see it, too. He wouldn't have given you that ring otherwise, right?"

Pepper rested her left hand upon the counter, watching, as the brilliant gleam of her engagement ring glittered warmly under the kitchen's light. Happy was right. She saw it—that hesitancy, that quiet, uncharacteristic flicker of regret in Tony's eyes, just before he suited up and left for a mission. Could it be that he, Tony Stark, was _tired_ of being Iron Man? Or was it something else entirely?

"Since when were you so wise, Happy Hogan?" she asked.

Happy chuckled and crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, I've had to look after Tony for all of these years. One of us had to learn a little wisdom—otherwise, we'd both be dead." There was a pause, and then he scrunched his brow. "Hey, there's a smudge there. See it?"

Pepper turned her hand over. A small, black discoloration had formed at the bottom of her wedding band. "Weird." She rubbed at it with the opposite thumb, but the smudge remained.

"Here," Happy stood and motioned for Pepper to follow him down the hall. "I know just the thing. Tony used to keep this high-powered cleaning solution in his shop. It works great on small engine parts…."

"Uh, are you sure it's safe to use on this?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Mmm…." Pepper hummed resignedly and followed him downstairs.

* * *

Happy rummaged around for a few minutes, searching for the right solution, and Pepper tried not to think about how empty the workshop felt when Tony was not there, tinkering or building or disassembling something.

She tried not to think about the fact that he was so far away, so far gone, that she would never be able to reach him on her own. He had to come back.

He _would_ come back. Because he was Tony, and he always came back, always, even when the entire universe was against him.

"Ah, here we are." Happy pulled a small jug of purple liquid from beneath a nearby bench and returned to Pepper. "Alright, so let's just pour some in a basin, and then…." he trailed off as his eyes fell on something beyond her shoulder.

Pepper removed the ring from her finger as they prepared to go on with the (probably bad) idea. "What's wrong?"

His face was suddenly pale.

Pepper glanced behind her. Clouds were forming, and a loud, reverberating clap of thunder shook the sky. "I thought it was supposed to be sunny all day," she murmured. Almost immediately, a heavy rain began to fall.

"Right. Uh," Happy leaned against a workbench beside him. "Did you check the expiration date on that fruit? I think it may be disagreeing with me."

She turned back around. "I just bought it yesterday," Pepper said. With each passing moment, he seemed to be losing color; the broad-shouldered bodyguard slumped forward and tugged at his collar. "Happy, are you okay? You look... _really_ pale. I think you should sit down."

"It's alright, I just, uh—" Suddenly, Happy's eyes went wide. A bead of sweat dripped from his forehead as he clutched at his stomach. Pepper rested her hand on his arm to steady him.

But then, there was a fluttering sensation beneath her fingertips, and Pepper looked down to see that his jacket was turning to ash, as though lit by some invisible flame. "Happy?"

"Pepper. Tell Tony." Happy took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, his dark eyes resolute and steady, even as his body began to disintegrate.

"Happy! Happy, what's going on? What—just hang on!" She reached for his arm, but it, too, had vanished.

His determined expression faltered slightly as the process reached his neck, and his final remnants began to drift away. "Tell Tony that he can let go. He doesn't need it," Happy said, and Pepper reached for him, but he was no longer there. "He doesn't need it, because he has you. He—" But then, his very breath collapsed and drifted away, leaving nothing but the lingering scent of dust and ash.

Her ring clattered to the ground as Pepper lifted her hands to cover her mouth. "Happy…."

This couldn't be real. Things like this were reserved for nightmares, for the stuff of dark novels and horror movies. Yes, that was it. She must've drifted off earlier, when she was working.

Pepper ran for the stairs and charged down the hall, into her bedroom. She made it to her bathroom sink and turned the water on as cold as it would go. _Wake up_ , she told herself, splashing ice-cold droplets onto her face. _Wake up, wake up!_

But she didn't wake up.

 _This isn't—this can't be—did Happy just? No, this isn't real._ Pepper wiped her face with shaking hands and stumbled out of the bathroom. She made the mistake of spying Tony's empty side of the bed, and in a desperate attempt to quell her rising fear, she rushed back down the hall.

"Friday," Pepper said as she entered the kitchen and reached for her cell, "call 9-1-1."

" _Will do_."

Still shaking, pepper dialed Rhodey's number and took several deep breaths. _It's okay. He'll pick up, and he'll tell me that Tony is on his way back. That I'm dreaming, that I've imagined this. That Happy is okay_.

But Rhodey didn't answer.

Pepper's phone was nearly dead; she slipped it into the pocket of her jeans and pressed her hands to her temples. _Shit. Shit!_

" _No one is picking up_ ," Friday announced after several long stretches of silence.

Pepper straightened. "What?"

" _The line is busy. I'm tracing a massive influx of calls to Emergency Response, but there aren't enough people to answer._ "

 _What the hell is going on?_ Pepper yanked her purse from the counter, causing the barstool next to her to topple over, and she swept toward the entryway. _I have to find someone—anyone—who can help. There has to be some explanation, right? Some proof that this is just an awful dream…._ She pulled Tony's leather jacket from its hangar beside the door and wrapped it around her shoulders. His scent lingered on the dark material; Pepper rubbed her temples for a moment, fighting a wave of fear-induced nausea, before reaching for the door handle and stepping outside.

* * *

The city was in chaos.

Dark, mournful clouds stretched across the sky, their pensive billows thrown open to release a steady, grief-stricken rain. Two accidents had already occured on Pepper's street—she watched as authorities rushed over, only to find that the offending vehicles were empty. Sirens blared and echoed through the mazes of New York's streets. But above that sound was a different sort of wailing, the type that is born of human sorrow, as people watched their loved ones turn to ash.

Pepper gripped the collar of Tony's jacket as she caught up with the first police officer she spotted. "Sir," she said, wiping a swath of rain drops from her brow, "Please—please help me. My friend just...he just...he's gone. Please, do you have any idea what's happening? Has that ship come back?"

The officer paused to address her, waving on his two comrades. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but we have no idea what's going on yet. Right now we're just trying to minimize the damage."

The radio on his chest crackled. " _Officer Bradshaw is down_ ," someone said.

The officer clicked his mic. "I'm on my way."

" _No_ ," the other person said, " _I mean, he's..._ gone _. Like the others._ "

There was a long pause, broken only by the rain and the wailing of sirens and grief-torn citizens. "God, help us." The officer bowed his head.

"There has to be something, some clue as to what's going on," Pepper said. "Please."

"Ma'am, I know you're upset, but—" He was cut off, suddenly, as his expression turned from one of grief to shock. Then his limbs and his torso and his entire form was reduced to nothingness, and Pepper froze as he, like Happy, simply disappeared.

She buried her face in her hands. "Why...why is this happening?" Pepper pressed the sleeve of Tony's jacket to her mouth, gasping, as she attempted to cushion the sob in her chest. "I don't understand."

 _Tony_. His name sliced through her consciousness as Pepper stared brokenly into the sky. _Where are you?_ Surely he would come back. Surely, any moment now, he would come bursting through the clouds in that ever-bright armor of his, and he would be safe and alive and _near_.

But as she pictured his return, pictured the exact hue of his brown eyes, the way he tipped his head to the side when he smiled, she saw it all devolve into a smoking pile of ash. Pepper saw the curling grey flakes take hold of him and carry him away. She closed her eyes against the agonizing image, but it remained.

Tears spilled down her cheeks as Pepper took off down the street. She had to find someone, had to do _something_ , lest her imagination tear her asunder. Desperately, she searched for answers. Pepper looked into the faces of those left behind; she saw her own wide, terrorized visage staring back at her.

Nobody knew what was going on.

Nobody understood.

There was, in that great city, nothing _to_ understand, except that people who had been there moments before were now gone, drifting into the sky like some distant memory.

Still, Pepper ran on. She clung to the leather jacket as though it were Tony himself, spurring her on, comforting her. She stopped twice to help citizens who were trapped in the back seats of crumpled vehicles (they were, at least, physically intact). All around, people were continuing to disappear—fading into shades of grey before they dissolved into dust and ash and _gone, just gone_.

A memory came flitting across her mind's eye as Pepper wove through the shattered streets. She recalled that time, all those years ago, when Tony had asked her to help him replace the arc reactor in his chest.

 _I don't have anyone but you_. That's what he had told her.

Later, when she had voiced her worry (and stubborn disapproval) over his new "hobby," Pepper had said much the same. _You're all I have too, you know_. And she meant it, even back then, before the sky had been torn open and their world had been ripped asunder.

But it was just as true today. Tony was all she had. He would _always_ be all she had, up until her very last breath, because she had chosen him, and he had chosen her.

 _Come back, Tony_ , Pepper willed, casting her prayer into the rain and the wind and the thick grief of the air. _Please come back._

She was rounding a corner when there came the sudden flash of a single headlight behind her. Pepper stumbled out of the way of the unmanned motorcycle, narrowly avoiding a major accident. The bike rammed straight into a lamppost in front of her; such was the speed of the collision that Pepper had scarcely enough time to avoid the falling lamppost. It caught her left leg, pinning her, and as she fell, her head smacked into the rain-soaked sidewalk.

* * *

 _I don't have anyone but you_.

Pepper woke with a great, shuddering gasp. The world was dark; around her, all was rain and ash and fire, covered above by a cloudy night sky.

Not even the stars dared to shine.

Pepper lifted her head and was gratified by a sharp, throbbing pain in her temple, accompanied by a fresh wave of nausea. She hissed and waited for the sensation to subside. When it did, Pepper looked down to see that her left leg was still pinned. She tried flexing the muscles; although the limb was stiff and fiercely sore, she didn't think it was broken.

She had to get out of there.

It took at least ten minutes and the loss of her left shoe for Pepper to shimmy out from beneath the fallen lamppost. When at last she was free, she inched her battered body to a standing position. The street was largely empty, now that night had fallen. Her temple protested—loudly—as she surveyed her surroundings. She checked her phone to find that the battery was dead.

With a sigh and a pained grunt, Pepper began her trek home, made long and arduous by her injuries and her fear.

She told herself that she should not dare to hope. That she should not imagine his face so clearly—every beloved inch of it, from his curved, confident smile to that striking softness in his eyes, which appeared only when she was around.

But Pepper hoped anyway, against her better and practical judgement. Because she loved him. Because he was all she had. And if Tony never did come home, if he never came striding through that front door again, well...she supposed she might just turn to ash, and drift away.

* * *

The first thing Pepper heard upon entering the condo was the shrill, crackling rain of finely-shattered glass. After that, her world fell into a spell of muted silence.

She waded through the vacant hallway on bated breath. Her heart was pounding. Her head, she thought, should be throbbing, but she couldn't feel it. She pulled at the collar of Tony's jacket and limped down the staircase with as much speed as she could muster.

 _I don't have anyone but you._

Pepper saw the first indications of destruction at the base of the stairs; a blanket of broken glass, like so many glittering jewels, sparkled upon the floor.

 _You're all I have too, you know_.

She stepped carefully into the fray. Her left foot, currently vulnerable to the shards since she had lost her shoe, hovered precariously over the carnage.

 _Tell Tony. Tell him that it's okay to let go. He doesn't need it,_

Pepper looked up and across the ravaged workshop.

 _Because he has you_.

* * *

She found him splintered and broken amongst the wreckage, his bloodied limbs curled defensively against his chest.

 _Tony_.

Pepper ran to him, spurring the sting of the remaining shards. He was alive. He was there. He was going to be okay, he was going to stay, he wouldn't turn to ash, _please don't turn to ash, don't disappear again, please…._

When at last she had crossed that fragile distance between them, Pepper knelt at his side. "Tony?" She placed her hand upon his bruised cheek.

Tony blinked slowly; his dark eyes, red-rimmed and dazed, settled blearily upon her. "She's gone," he whispered brokenly. "She's gone—I couldn't...after everything…."

Something cracked within her chest. Desperately, gently, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him close, until his head was resting against hers. She knitted her fingers in his hair. "Tony," she breathed, trembling, as her tears fell upon his skin, "honey, it's me. I'm right here." She held him tighter, still. One hand slid down to splay across the curve of his back. "I'm right here."

Slowly, tentatively, Tony lifted one arm. His fingers found a lock of her long, red hair. She felt his inhale as he struggled for breath. "...Pepper?" he choked.

She tried to answer, but all of her sorrow and relief was so completely overwhelming that words would not come. Instead, she folded into Tony's embrace. He held her—just as desperately as she held him—and his tears mingled with hers as they spilled onto the floor.

"I'm sorry," he wept as he buried his face in her neck. "I'm so sorry, Pep. This was...everything, it's…." The end of his apology was buried beneath their grief. "Don't go," he whispered. "Please, don't go."

It was the third time he apologized to her that day.

She had never seen him so broken.

She had never _been_ so broken.

Pepper refused to let go, this time, like she should have that morning, when they were in the park and the world was still on its axis. "I won't. I promise, Tony. I promise."

Tony pressed a tearful kiss to her cheek—a promise that he was there; that he, too, would stay—and the world stilled around them as they clung to each other amidst all of the brokenness.

* * *

Later, when the tears had ceased for the moment, Pepper looked down and realized, suddenly, that all of this blood was Tony's, and that he had an awful, jagged wound below his ribcage. His hands were also badly bloodied; she couldn't tell what had caused it.

"Tony…."

His skin was awfully pale. He leaned his head back against the wall and clenched his jaw. "I think, uh, I've lost a lot of blood."

"You think?"

He blinked slowly. "Yeah. Hey, Pep, about those dinner reservations…." he trailed off as his eyes drifted shut.

Pepper reached for his shoulders. "Tony?" She shook him lightly. "Tony, you need to stay awake. Can you hear me?"

"Mmm."

She glanced out the window, where the night sky glared down upon them. "Friday, how far to the nearest hospital?"

" _I'm afraid all of the hospitals are overburdened and understaffed at the moment. I would suggest taking him to Avengers HQ._ "

Pepper tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I don't have time to drive him there," she murmured. _Not that I would be able to drive him, anyway_ , she thought as she looked over at the remains of their two cars. One had been thoroughly smashed to pieces, and the other, it seemed, had had its engine meticulously dismantled on the floor beside it.

" _Of course not. According to my calculations, though, you should have time to fly him there,_ " the AI chimed.

"Fly him?" Pepper's eyes widened as she peered up at the ceiling. As she did so, she caught the glow of something across the workshop's floor.

It was the arc reactor for Tony's nanotech suit.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think?**


	4. A Night on the Town

**Thanks to everyone for reading/following/reviewing/etc! It's really encouraging to see how many of you have enjoyed the story so far :)**

 **I should probably say that I haven't read any of the comics, so as far as Tony's suit and stuff goes, I only know what I know from the movies / ravenously Googling for details that probably don't exist. That said, there will be improvisation (I'm sorry for any and all details that I get wrong).**

 **Anyway, thanks again, and I hope you guys like this one. Let me know what you think?**

* * *

"This is a bad idea," Pepper fretted as she carefully grabbed Tony's arc reactor from the floor. She held it out in front of her as though it might explode at a moment's notice.

" _You'll be fine,_ " Friday droned. " _Remember, I'm connected to the armor's systems, so I'll be there to guide you along the way._ "

Pepper brushed her thumb along the reactor's blue core; it was warm to the touch. She had donned an Iron Man suit only once, back when the Malibu mansion was under siege, and the moment had been so brief—the circumstances so terrifying—that she had hardly known what was going on.

And yet….

She looked down at Tony, who was still slumped against the wall. There was no time to debate with herself. His life was at stake—and Pepper would be damned if she let him die now, after they had finally found each other.

Pepper took a deep breath and released it through her teeth. "Okay," she hissed, bringing the reactor closer to her chest. "Okay." She turned her head to the side and made a face.

" _Tony authorized you to use this suit, should the need arise,_ " said Friday. " _Go ahead and connect it to your chest._ "

At the word " _connect_ ," Pepper imagined a pair of spider-like legs emerging from the reactor's plated edges and reaching hungrily for the veins beneath her skin, like some kind of metallic parasite.

There came a trembling pressure around her right ankle. Pepper looked down and into Tony's bleary, half-closed eyes; his fingers were wrapped weakly around her leg. "Come on, Potts," he rattled, his voice little more than a grated whisper. "Take me out...for a night on the town…."

Spurred on by that glimmer in his eyes, Pepper zipped up her (Tony's) jacket and slapped the arc reactor on top; there was a series of clicks as the device fastened itself to the leather— _not_ to her skin, thankfully. She could feel its subtle warmth through the fabric. Pepper breathed in and looked back to Tony. "Okay," she began, mustering her courage, "What do I do now?"

Tony peered up at her from where he sat, slumped and bleeding on the floor, and a pained grin tugged at his lips. He released his hold on her leg; instead, his bloodied hand came up to rest lightly against his sternum.

Pepper shadowed the motion and covered the arc reactor with her palm. Rays of white-blue light streamed through the gaps between her fingers. She exhaled and pressed once, hard, against the device, and the suit activated.

Streams of scarlet, gold, and silver bled from the reactor's core. Pepper extended her arms as the reaching alloys spread toward her fingers and down her legs, encasing her in a protective shell. The inner layer of the armor expanded to cushion her joints. There was a brief, lancing pain in her left ankle as the padding pressed in, but then the support seemed to stabilize the injured joint, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

There was a section that remained incomplete—a relatively wide patch over her left shoulder—and she assumed it was a result of Tony's recent battles. The air in the workshop seemed suddenly cool when compared to the suit's automated temperature systems; Pepper looked down at Tony, and he managed to produce a somewhat convincing smirk.

"Hot."

She rolled her eyes at that. "How do I put the helmet on?"

" _The suit has interfaced with your nervous system_ ," Friday told her, " _so it will respond to 'thought commands.' That is, you will it, and the suit does it—assuming the function is possible_."

"Wow. Okay…." Pepper squeezed her eyes shut and scrunched up her brow—eliciting a faint chuckle from Tony—and as she pictured the helmet in her mind's eye, there came the high, flickering sound of the suit's activation. She opened her eyes to find that the world was now a surprisingly vivid display of screens and numbers and visual readings. Pepper knelt beside Tony. Her interface showed a readout of his wounds; blue reticles zoomed in on the tear in his side and the raw, muddled wounds on his hands.

"Tony," Pepper said, and his heavy-lidded eyes drifted up to her. "I'm going to have to carry you. Try to stay awake, okay?"

He grunted. "Mm-hmm." As Pepper reached for him, she noticed the bloodied glimmer of something in his left hand. It was her engagement ring. Her chest tightened; gently, she plucked it from his palm, and as the armor of her ring finger receded, she slipped it back on (she would need to clean it later). Then Pepper wrapped an arm around his shoulders and under the bend of his knees, and she hugged his wounded frame to her chest as she stood. He was amazingly light, thanks to the suit.

"Friday, open the door for us, please."

" _You got it_." Tony had modified the workshop door to look like nothing more than a seamless wall from the outside. Thankfully, he hadn't damaged it in his destructive throes. The rails hissed smoothly as the door opened, and Pepper, clutching Tony, stepped into the night.

* * *

Friday's voice hummed through the helmet's systems. " _Since your hands are full, you'll need to deploy the suit's repulsor wings to keep you stable and give you an extra boost._ "

"Right." Pepper looked up, where the stars were still hidden behind the clouds. "Flying."

 _This is a_ really _bad idea_.

A pair of angular, paneled attachments formed between her shoulder blades (the images on her interface looked rather small to be classified as "wings," but Pepper trusted Tony's—and, by extension, Friday's—judgment). She glanced down at Tony, who appeared to have fallen asleep. "We need to hurry," she whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

" _You're right,_ " said Friday. " _Now, up you go_!"

"Wha—" Pepper's startled exclamation was cut short as, suddenly, she was propelled into the air. A steady stream of energy peeled from the soles of the armor's boots; in a matter of seconds, she had breached the sea of her neighborhood, and its slow and reluctant lights flickered dimly below her. " _Friday_!" Pepper snapped, clinging desperately to Tony for fear that she might drop him, "Not okay!" (had she just thought that she trusted the AI's judgment?)

" _You needed a boost_."

"I _needed_ to get my bearings," she growled, trying and failing to keep her mind from assessing her current elevation. Unfortunately, her interface did the assessment for her; she was currently 107 feet from the cold, broken pavement, and all of the other carnage below. "Shit!"

"' _Sometimes, you gotta run before you can walk.'''_

"Don't quote Tony," Pepper scoffed, though her voice was exceptionally high-pitched because of her fear. "It's a cheap move."

Friday deftly ignored her exasperated jab. " _You can level out now,_ " the AI said. " _I've programmed HQ's coordinates into the suit's systems, but the autopilot function isn't working properly._ "

"Why?"

" _It has to do with the disconnect that occurred when the suit left our atmosphere. I can't repair it on my own; Boss will have to do it later, when he's recovered._ "

Pepper sighed.

" _Just angle your torso down a little, and the rest of your body will follow. The repulsor wings will kick in shortly to help keep you level,"_ said Friday. " _And try to relax. It's much more difficult when you're stiff_."

"This is crazy," Pepper muttered. She kept her eyes trained on Tony's features and carefully began to straighten out her form. Soon—or long enough for her to stifle the worst of her tremors, at least—she was relatively close to being parallel with the streets below. There came a muted, energized kick; another stream of light burst from the repulsor wings on her back, and Pepper felt some of the strain in her abdomen release as the attachments fanned out, providing her with better stability and greater speed.

Maybe a little _too much_ speed, in fact.

She was coming up on a maze of skyscrapers. "Uh, Friday?" She ventured, adjusting her grip on Tony (more for her comfort than his). "Think we can slow this thing down a little?"

" _You'll be fine_."

"You _do_ see the mess of skyscrapers in front of me, right?"

If the AI was capable of producing a human sigh, she would have. " _You're thinking of the suit as a tool, Pepper. Instead, try to imagine it as an extension of your body._ "

Pepper made the mistake of looking down at the ruined streets. "I—what?" She could feel the suit's climate control kick in as her body temperature spiked; cool air slipped along the surface of her skin.

" _You don't need to weave through them, unless you want to._ "

"Oh." Pepper mentally kicked herself. Of course she didn't have to; she could just fly higher, instead. "Right." Feeling a little more confident after her involuntary "boost" into the sky, Pepper craned her neck back (at the protest of her concussed head) and rocketed straight up. The suit responded nicely; with the added propulsion of the wings, she cleared the apex of the oncoming buildings with surprising ease.

" _See_?" Friday pressed as Pepper headed forward again, caught somewhere between the clouds and the city's surface. " _You're getting the hang of it already_."

It was strange, Pepper thought, but the ravaged sorrow of New York's remaining citizens didn't seem quite so daunting, so raw, when she was up there. She wasn't thinking about what it would be like to collide with the pavement below. She wasn't worried about losing her grip on Tony's form. She even wondered—for a fraction of a second—if, perhaps, she had only imagined Happy's disappearance, and every other awful thing she had witnessed since then. It was as though she and Tony were safe up there, suspended above the carnage, with only the slow rain and the wind and the mournful city lights to keep them company.

It was as though the world was not in shambles.

But it was.

Indeed, Pepper was reminded as soon as she looked down upon Tony's bloodied visage, and again when she realized that many of the city's lights were not lights at all, but fires.

"Tony?" She doubted that he could hear her over the rush of the wind and rain. "Tony."

Slowly, his eyes opened. "Ah," he grunted, and a trickle of blood was swept from his lips as soon as it appeared, blown adrift by the wind. "S'okay," Tony said, so quietly that Pepper wouldn't have been able to hear him if it weren't for the suit's amplified sound system. "You got me, Pep." His bloodshot eyes skated down to assess their current elevation. They widened slightly before he looked back to her, and he added, "I hope."

Pepper watched the blinking indicator on her interface. According to Friday's calculations, they would reach HQ in less than twenty minutes. "I've got you," she affirmed.

* * *

They were nearly upon the base when Pepper realized that she had no idea how to land. "Friday?"

" _Feet first_ ," the AI responded. " _And disengage your repulsor wings_."

But they were moving too fast, and Pepper had become rather accustomed to their previous height—so much so that she didn't realize how fast the ground was coming up to meet her when she started her descent.

" _Forget it—Pepper, tuck and roll! Shut off the wings—the wings, Pepper!_ "

In her defense, Pepper did, in fact, disengage the repulsor wings—but not until she was just feet from the cold ground. She wrapped her arms around Tony and, as if by magic, a wide shield formed around her right forearm, encasing him. She hit the grass on her side with a great _crash_. Pepper rolled, spinning so rapidly that she was instantly dizzy, and when the spinning finally stopped she was sliding through the grass and dirt like some scarlet, fractured meteor. Eventually, she slammed into something solid and ricocheted onto her back, smoking.

Her helmet disengaged. Pepper coughed into the night sky, shaking. "Tony? Are you okay?" The shield melted away, and Pepper peeled her arms apart to find him curled on top of her, wheezing. "Tony? I'm so sorry, I—are you—"

"...Potts," he mumbled groggily. "I think...that was even worse than _my_ first landing."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "Are you referring to the piano incident?"

"Maybe."

Pepper huffed a weary chuckle and, with great effort, she managed to scoop him back up and bring herself to her feet. She boosted out of the trench she had created (oops) and skirted around the crumpled dent she had left in the side of the building (that could be fixed easily, right?) before making her way to the entrance.

* * *

As it turned out, Pepper hadn't even made it to the door before someone emerged to greet her—"greet" meaning "armed with an enormous hammer-axe-thing and crackling with unnatural storm energy."

"Oh," Thor stopped short when he recognized her. "Uh, come in, Pepper." The lightning-glow in his eyes receded as he stepped aside, and the door slid open. He peered down at Tony, who was unconscious once again. "I'm glad to see he survived. He cannot stand on his own?" Pepper shook her head, and she caught a fleeting glimmer of worry in Thor's multicolored gaze.

"He needs a doctor. Where's Bruce?"

"Well, he was sitting very still and staring dejectedly down at the floor, last I saw." Thor's red cape rippled behind him as he strode through the wide entrance hall.

Pepper blinked; her head was throbbing again, and she realized, suddenly, that there could have been a very different answer to that question. She didn't know who had managed to survive, yet. "Oh."

"Banner!" The Asgardian called as he began climbing the stairs. He glanced briefly at Pepper, ensuring that she was close behind. "Take him to the procedure room," he ordered. "I'll find Banner."

Pepper nodded as they reached the top of the stairs and parted ways; Thor took off at a brisk trot, and she continued on to the relatively small medical area at the end of the hall. It was just large enough for two beds and an assortment of emergency equipment. She gently laid Tony upon the nearest bed and remained above him, waiting.

* * *

It was only a few minutes before the clamor of footsteps sounded outside the door.

"I'm not that kind of doctor, you guys," she heard Bruce say. "But I'll try."

Rhodey sighed. "That's all we're asking."

Pepper turned around to see the two of them, followed by Natasha, Thor, and Steve Rogers, come striding through the open doorway. Bruce spotted Tony's still form and rushed immediately to his side, glancing briefly at Pepper as he did so.

"Hey, Pepper," he said, softly.

"Hi, Bruce."

The doctor sighed. "Alright," he mustered as he rolled up his sleeves and fiddled briefly with his glasses. "Nat, I'll need your help. The rest of you—give us some space, okay?"

Pepper leaned forward on one foot. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Not at the moment." He pressed his lips together. "I'll let you know as soon as anything changes, okay?"

She pinched the bridge of her nose and was reminded—somewhat painfully—that the armor was still on. "Okay."

Rhodey extended an arm and placed his hand upon her shoulder, as if to ground her. "Come on, Pepper," he murmured. "We'll make you some tea while we wait."

And so she followed him out of the room, and as the armor receded back into the arc reactor on her chest, Pepper felt the rest of the world come bearing down on her shoulders yet again—the world, and the reality of what had happened. Everything became a blur; she saw the smudged, bloodstained ring upon her finger, and she lifted a shaking hand to knead her brow. Rhodey and Steve pressed closer to her as they walked; their presence, flanking her on either side, served as a guiding force that kept her upright until she reached the living area and collapsed onto the couch.

Still, she had to know, had to ask that question, the one she had been too afraid to speak aloud to Tony, lest he crumble.

The room fell deathly silent.

And there, in the quiet, was her answer. The percentage—no, not a percentage, for souls and lives could not be measured in mere numbers. They were too weighty for that. Too important and real and _gone_. They were too familiar, for they sounded like _Peter Parker_ and _Bucky Barnes_ and _Happy Hogan_ and _moms_ and _dads_ and _sisters_ and _brothers_ and _friends_ and—dare she say it?— _children_.

Thor hovered close by; Steve began brewing a pot of tea; Rhodey sat down beside her.

And when the words "fifty percent" escaped Rhodey's lips, both denying and confirming the very substance of her thoughts, Pepper wept.


	5. Proximity

**Hi all! Thanks again for all of the support you guys have given this story. I hope you like this one!**

* * *

 _The dreamer was standing amidst the wreckage of a flattened city. Around him, the remains of its sprawling structures—office buildings and department stores and corporate offices; public schools, suburbs and picket fences—lay half-buried in a sea of dry, crumbling dust, as though they had slumped beneath its crests as a fish dips below the surface of a spring lake._

 _Everything was grey. The world, one could say, had been redrawn in charcoal, and no matter the skill of the artist's hand, the second rendition was little more than a forlorn and nearly-forgotten memory of its predecessor's glory._

 _There appeared a figure in the distance._

 _The dreamer stumbled through the dust; he had to reach this person, somehow._

 _Perhaps they could tell him what had happened. Perhaps they could tell him where the world's color had gone...for if he could find it, perhaps he could bring it back (he was a fixer, after all)._

 _On and on he struggled, through the all-encompassing strokes of grey. A slow wind began; it pushed and pulled at the waves of dust. The shambles of the city—of the past—were unimpressed with its nudging, however. They remained resolutely still as it whistled through the myriad of shattered windows and fractured beams and old, twisted swing sets._

 _It seemed like an age had passed when he finally drew close to the lone figure, who was staring out across the sea of dust and desecration. The dreamer could not see his face, but his posture—the slump of his shoulders, the youthful way he rolled back onto his heels, and the faint, lyrical sound of his voice as he hummed into the wind—seemed somehow familiar._

 _The dreamer meant to say something; he meant to call out, to get the young man's attention. But the wind grew louder and more fierce, and his words were lost. Instead, the boy turned to him through the torrent._

 _His eyes were wide and afraid._

 _The dreamer had made a mistake. He knew it at once, knew it as soon as he saw Peter's face, as soon as they boy's mouth opened and even though the rest of the world had been muted by the wind's incessant gale, his voice was loud and painfully clear._

" _I was just trying to be like you," Peter said._

 _The dreamer's body went rigid. He couldn't breathe._

 _From somewhere—no, from all around them—a voice answered. The dreamer recognized the voice, for it was his, but his lips had not opened._

" _I want you to be better."_

" _Mr. Stark," Peter whispered as he leaned closer, and his eyes—brown, the dreamer realized, for they were the only thing that held any color in this new world—peered straight through him, down to his very core. "Am I like you, now?"_

 _The wind tore around them, as though it were its own entity, capable of emotions so volatile as rage and sorrow. The dreamer reached for the boy's shoulders, and he saw that his hands were suddenly and thoroughly covered in ash._

 _He gasped; the wind tore the remaining air from his lungs. Peter's body dissolved into cold, lifeless flakes, and the dreamer realized, suddenly, that the city had not fallen into dust. The ground at his feet, the sting of particles in the air, that acrid, suffocating scent, was not dust at all._

 _It was ash._

 _How foolish, the dreamer thought as he fell to his knees. How naive. To think that he would be able to bring the color back—to fix this world. No._

 _The wind continued to howl; the ashes rose; the wails of countless lives, all left behind, rose to haunt him, and as the dreamer stretched out his fingers, reaching for a sun that would no longer shine, he found with great surprise that someone was there to take his hand. He saw a glimmer of blue—yes, he recognized those eyes. Was there color here, after all?_

* * *

Tony woke from his nightmare with all the dignity of a startled cat. He shot upright with a great yelp, his heavily-bandaged hands reaching frantically to pull the leads from his chest, and he was halfway done when he realized that the world was not grey, not ash, but colored. Sweat dripped from his temple as he fell rigid, his ribs stretching desperately as they allowed his lungs to expand.

There came a gentle touch upon his arm. "Tony?"

His red-rimmed eyes fell upon the tired form of Pepper Potts, who had, apparently, been sitting at his bedside. Judging by the state of her hair (frazzled, as though it was hanging onto her hair tie for dear life) and the dark, haggard circles under her eyes, Tony surmised that she had just woken up, as well.

"That was, uh...sorry. I woke you." His words faltered as he struggled to keep his head above the lurking waves of his nightmare, beneath which he would surely drown. Tony sniffed. "You look awful."

Pepper's derisive snort was stifled by a long and delicate yawn. "Says the battered and bruised hero." Her blue eyes flicked to the tangle of cords he had created; quietly, she began to remove the rest of his leads, carefully pulling the stickers away so that the process wouldn't sting. When the machine beside them chirped in disapproval, Pepper cancelled the alarm.

Tony watched her for a long moment. His gaze lingered upon the strawberry gleam of her red hair and the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose; when she finished disconnecting the leads and she leaned back, her fingers remained splayed over the top of his bandaged hand. Tony marvelled at how fragile they seemed—Pepper's hands, so delicate, so perfectly balanced and small—as they curled neatly around his. If he looked closely enough, he thought he might have detected a subtle tremor.

Pepper's hands were perfect, Tony thought, for things that required finesse and skill, like playing piano or guiding paint across a canvas in swooping, deliberate strokes. They were not meant for awful things. They were not meant for ashes and duty and armor that hid their beauty from the world.

But those very hands had carried him here.

He stared at the arc reactor on her chest, wondering briefly why she hadn't removed it yet, and Tony swallowed. He wanted to say those things: that he was sorry (again), that he should never have left the park that day, that she shouldn't have to bear the burden that the arc reactor had become. He wanted to say that they should just go, that they should get married and build an elaborate cabin in the woods, where no one would ever find them and the tides of the ashes would not sweep them away.

But Tony didn't say those things. He couldn't.

Instead, he picked fretfully at the edge of the gauze that covered his knife wound. "You, uh, gonna give me back my suit?" he asked. "I mean, it looks pretty hot on you. Not as hot as that dress I bought you for Christmas last year, but it's a close second."

"Well, that depends—"

"Oh, wait." Tony scrunched his brow. "Yeah, I forgot about that dress you wore to the benefit all those years ago—you know, the blue one with the open back—yep." He smirked. "Damn. _That_ one's my favorite, which pushes the suit down to third." Tony gave her a forced, saccharine grin. "How come you never wear it anymore?"

Pepper rolled her eyes. "It was in my wardrobe at the Malibu house."

"Hmm. We'll have to order you a new one." Tony grunted and looked toward the ceiling. "Friday, order Pepper a new one."

" _Sure thing, Boss_."

"Tony." Pepper leveled him with a serious gaze as she removed the reactor from her—no, _his_ —jacket, and set it on top of his bedside table. Tony felt just a bit lighter after it was gone. Pepper opened her mouth to finish her thought, but just then, the door to the room slid open, and the rest of the Avengers entered.

She leaned closer and pressed a kiss to Tony's cheek. "I'll be back," she promised. "I'm going to grab some tea."

"Wait—" But she was already gone. "I was going to ask for some scotch…." Tony glanced up at his remaining comrades and denied the urge to look directly at his hands, for fear that the ashes had returned. "Well," he said, rubbing absently at his bottom lip, "is this a 'welcome back' party, or an ambush? Because I can't quite tell. Some alcohol would help clear it up, I think."

Bruce was the first to step forward. "You shouldn't drink until you've completely recovered, Tony," he said, but he was smiling faintly. Bruce moved closer and lightly clasped Tony's shoulder. "It's good to see that you're awake."

"Yeah, thanks for patching me up," Tony replied. He lowered his voice and asked, "you didn't put anything green in me, did you?"

Bruce snorted. "Not this time." He leaned back on one foot and removed his glasses; with a sigh, he used his sweater to wipe a smudge from one of the lenses. "Anyway, you were pretty lucky—Pepper got you here just in time. Nat and I cleaned up what we could and I managed to close your wound, but you had already lost quite a bit of blood, so…."

"So I needed a transfusion." Tony frowned. "Alright then, who was it?" He glanced accusingly around the room.

Steve Rogers stepped forward. "It was me," the captain said. He remained at a respectful distance, but his chin was lifted, and his expression was one of classic resolve. "Nobody else was compatible, and I'm a universal donor."

"I see." Tony tapped his fingers against the bed sheets and cleared his throat. He hadn't spoken to Steve Rogers since The Event. "Well," he said, tipping his head to the side and working his jaw, "I guess I should thank you, then. Even if you did give me your blood against my will."

"Against your will? You were unconscious."

"Exactly."

"Tony…."

He sighed. "Alright, fine. I would be dead if it weren't…." _If it weren't for the fact that I just so happened to be in The Fifty Percent_. Tony swallowed to stifle the sudden increase in his heart rate. "If you hadn't stepped up. So, thanks, I guess. I'm, uh, glad that you guys...made it."

"You look pale, Stark," Thor said.

Natasha leaned forward. "Thor's right. Are you okay? Maybe we should come back."

"Yeah, uh…." Tony wiped at his brow again; he was starting to sweat. "Can we do this party thing later?" His heart rate was continuing to go up; Tony was suddenly and unspeakably glad that Pepper had disconnected the cardiac monitor. "And what the hell kind of party doesn't have alcohol, anyway?" He leaned forward slightly, hoping that a change in posture would keep them from seeing the growing tremor in his hands. _Shit. Not now, damn it!_

"You guys, go on." Rhodey nodded to the doorway as he moved closer to Tony, his mechanical leg braces whirring softly with each step.

Thor and Steve turned and made their way out. Their faces were pulled into mirrored expressions of surprise and worry.

Bruce hesitated; he gave Rhodey a quizzical look, but when the lieutenant colonel nodded reassuringly, the scientist pressed his lips together and turned back to Natasha. Tony caught a faint whisper of movement as Bruce raised his hand to rest it briefly against the small of her back, but he seemed to change his mind at the last moment and ran his fingers through his hair, instead; then, the door closed behind them.

"Sorry, Tony," Rhodey said as he pulled up a chair beside his bed. "I tried to keep everyone from coming at once, but they wanted to see you."

Tony closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose, trying and failing to ignore the lingering scent of smoke. "S'fine," he mumbled. Slowly, he straightened, and his bloodshot eyes scanned the room. "Hey, do me a favor and grab a basin or something for me, will you?"

"A basin? What?" Rhodey eyed him warily. "You gonna puke?"

"No, I need to wash my hands."

Rhodey exhaled and leaned forward onto his elbows. "Tony," he said, "your hands are bandaged—they're clean. You don't need to wash them."

"They're not clean."

"Tony." When he didn't respond, Rhodey leaned closer still, and he settled a hand on his friend's shoulder. " _Tony_. Look at me." He did. "Listen—I know you've taken a hit. We all have, but...man, you've gotta pull through this. You've gotta trust that we're here to help you. The team...we need you, Tony. And you need _us_. You know that, right?"

The storms that lingered behind Tony's gaze seemed to clear, just slightly. "I know," he said. He forced a brave smile and released a breathy sigh as he fell back against his pillows. Eager to change the subject, he asked, "Did Blue's Clues make it here?"

"Nebula? Yeah, she's here. And the raccoon—Rocket, I think his name was. They know each other."

"Right. What's his story, anyway?"

Rhodey folded his arms over his chest. "No idea. It's a touchy subject, I guess. He's spoken hardly a word since he got here."

Tony heard the soft patter of footsteps coming from down the hall. Rhodey pulled himself to his feet with a soft groan, and he rubbed briefly at the fine grain of stubble on his chin. He looked down at Tony. "I'll let you get some rest," he said. "Holler if you need anything, okay?"

"Sure. Thanks, buddy."

The colonel paused just outside of the door, where Pepper had been preparing to enter. Tony saw him whisper something to her, quietly enough that he couldn't hear, and Pepper's concerned gaze flicked to Tony before she nodded and they parted ways.

"Is he telling secrets?" Tony asked as she resumed her post beside him.

Pepper sighed; she placed a warm mug of tea on the bedside table and smoothed her shirt (she had changed into a pair of Tony's sweats). "He's worried about you."

Tony watched as Pepper tucked a strand of hair behind her ear; beneath the sterile lighting of the room, her engagement ring was almost blindingly bright. It was quiet for a long moment. Pepper reached for her mug and took a slow, tentative sip.

Something was wrong.

Well, Tony thought, just about everything was wrong, as far as the state of the world went. But more specifically, he could tell that Pepper had something to say—something she _didn't want_ to say. He could see it in the way she stared just a little too long into the swirling surface of her drink; in the way she chewed lightly on her lower lip, as though she was working over the best way to explain something; in the way she took a moment to re-tie her hair into a tight bun.

Tony shifted against his pillows. "Alright, Pep," he said, "it's stressing me out just watching you squirm. Go ahead and tell me."

"I'm not sure if it's the right time," she said, her eyes skating over his various bandages.

"Sure it is."

"Let's wait till morning. You need to rest for now—"

"Honey, I swear, I won't be able to rest tonight anyway, so just—"

"Happy's gone." She said it quickly, sharply, as though she was afraid the words would escape, otherwise.

Tony stared at her.

Pepper curled inward; her fingers clasped protectively around the warm mug of tea, and a few strands of hair fell loose from her bun. "I was there," she whispered. Already, her voice was beginning to tremble. "I saw him. He was at the condo with me—we were just...I was working, and he was watching Downton Abbey, you know, because it's his favorite. And we went down to your workshop to look for something." She sniffled and pressed a palm to her forehead. "He was _right there_ , Tony, and then, he was just…he was just... _gone_."

Tony closed his eyes; a brief, muffled choking noise sounded in his throat, and he swallowed it with a painful hiss.

He didn't think he could take anymore. He couldn't stand to breathe this ash-ridden air, couldn't stand to waver over the lines between nightmarish dreams and the Nightmare that was reality. But when he looked over at Pepper and saw the quiet tears streaming down her cheeks—the evidence that she, too, was living it—Tony decided that he had to try, for her. He remembered his dream. She had pulled him from the ashes, hadn't she? And she had carried him all the way here, with those delicate hands and that mess of red hair and that tremor in her voice.

Even now, in this Nightmare, she was all that was good in this world. All that held him together.

And Tony would be damned if he did nothing to keep her from falling apart, too.

"Hey." He reached out a bandaged hand and brushed it gently under Pepper's chin, catching a few of the tears that lingered there. Her blue eyes met his. "Come here," Tony said.

Pepper leaned forward.

"No, I mean, come up here." He scooted himself over with a grunt and patted the bed beside him.

She hastily wiped her cheeks. "Tony…."

He tipped his chin up. "Come on, Potts. We've done more with less." Tony wiggled his eyebrows, eliciting a weak chuckle from Pepper, and she set her mug down before slowly crawling up and into bed with him. It was an awfully tight fit, but Tony relished her close proximity (and judging by her quiet sigh, he assumed that Pepper was thinking the same).

"There we go," he murmured. Tony shifted so that she could lay her head against his chest.

Pepper sniffed. "Are you okay?" she asked. "Your wound?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, it's fine. Bruce set me up with some kick-ass pain meds, I guess. Not quite as good as a stiff drink, but you know. It'll do."

She placed her hand over the circular scar at the center of Tony's chest—an echo that remained of the arc reactor he once relied so heavily upon. Her breath, fleeting and soft, whisked quietly across his bare skin. Tony reached with one hand and defly removed Pepper's hair tie; her long, red locks fell gratefully from their confinement and tickled his chest.

Tony closed his eyes once again and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I'm sorry you had to see it," he told her, softly, as he stroked her arm.

 _Damn it, Happy...not you, too_.

Pepper wrapped one leg around his. "Is this what it's like?" she asked. "To put on the suit—to fight, to...lose people?"

"No." Tony carded his fingers through her hair. It smelled of citrus and clean sheets. "This is different. It's worse," he told her. "It's much worse."

She traced a hand down his bicep, clinging to him. "Then...what happens next?"

"Well," he sighed, "all we can really do right now is damage control. And after that...I guess we'll just have to take it one step at a time. Honestly though, Pep, I don't know if there's a way back from this."

Pepper shifted so that she could look up and into his uncharacteristically solemn eyes. "If there _is_ a way," she said, "then you'll find it."

"Of course I will."

She snorted and flicked his chest, causing Tony to squirm. "And I'll be there along the way. Because, you know, _someone_ has to keep your ego in check."

There was another long pause. Tony was thinking about their wedding, and how joyful the occasion was supposed to be, how grand the venue, how _drunk_ he would get (which, really, he decided that he didn't want to be drunk that night. He wanted to remember it, after all); but mostly, he was thinking about what it would be like without Happy there as his best man. He pressed his lips into a thin line as his eyes fell upon Pepper's ring.

"Hey, Pep?"

"Hmm?"

"I've been thinking," Tony began, "that a retirement sounds kinda nice."

Pepper traced slow circles along his skin. "You're a little young to retire, aren't you?" But he could feel the increase in her pulse against his chest.

"Hear me out." Tony adjusted one of his pillows as he continued: "Just imagine: a cabin—well, a really _big_ cabin, you know, with all of the...well... _Stark_ flare, somewhere in the mountains."

"A cabin."

"Yeah. We wouldn't have to worry about the craziness of city life, or a call from the team, or any other interruptions, for that matter."

Pepper hummed thoughtfully. "You would go crazy within a week."

"Not with you around."

" _I_ would go crazy within a week."

"Not with me around."

She flicked his chest again. "Tony, what are you really trying to say?"

He sighed. "Well, I just...if there's any possible end to this—whatever _this_ is, the state of the world—I want to just...I don't know...be with you. Away from all of the insanity. The distractions."

"You mean…?"

"Yeah. I've gotta hang up the suits some time, Pepper. You deserve at least that much." Tony smiled sadly. There. He had said it, finally. It had been running around in his head and his chest for quite some time. "Besides," he added with a smirk, "it wouldn't be nearly as cool to be Iron Man when I'm some wrinkly old guy. Nobody would think I'm hot anymore."

"I would."

He chuckled, his chest humming with the warmth of the sound, and Tony leaned closer so that he could kiss her properly, on the lips this time. "So, what do you say?" he asked when they had parted.

Pepper rested her hand against his cheek. "I like the sound of that, Tony Stark," she answered. "As far as the cabin thing goes, though, I really do think you might go crazy."

"What, I'm not outdoorsy enough?"

"Well…."

"I will have you know that I have been camping two whole times in my life, Pepper Potts."

"Uh-huh. In a tent?"

"Details, details."

Pepper gave an amused hum and kissed him again. They stayed like that for hours, just the two of them, safe from the prying Nightmare of the outside world. They would have to face it eventually—in dreams when they closed their eyes, and in the mornings, when they woke—but for that evening, at least, they were together, so close that their very heartbeats aligned, and nothing else mattered.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading :) Let me know what you think? Also, it might be a bit of a longer wait for the next chapter (I've gotta finish one for another story, sorry). But anyway, I appreciate you all! Thanks again.**


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